Shadows Cast by Light
by the return of merry
Summary: Shortly after Snape’s Worst Memory takes place, Dumbledore decides that it’s time to do something about James and Severus’s enmity by setting up a one hour teadate at Spinner’s End. They go into it reluctantly, but James learns something that day that wil
1. Spinner's End

"Well, I s'pose no one's home. We can leave now, can't we?" The dark-haired boy glanced hopefully at his parents, brown eyes squinting from behind a pair of rectangular glasses, attractive features scrunched up into a small pout.

"James, dear, knock again," his mother said firmly, clutching her purse. Her thin figure was hunched slightly beneath a smart blue suit jacket, and she glanced nervously from left to right, as though expecting something large and dangerous to come ambling round the smoke-stained brick building at any given time. This place made her anxious. It was filthy and grey and inhabited by dour-faced people in colourless clothing. Not the sort of place one ought to be raising a child in, she thought with a grimace.

At his mother's stern beckoning, James extended his arm and reluctantly tapped at the worn black door. He eyed the tarnished knocker warily, hoping, fingers crossed. _Don't open. No one's home. Don't open. Don't open... _There was something about this neighbourhood that James did not trust, no matter how many reassuring half-smiles his parents threw at him. _Knock..._ Persistent, the sound shocked its way through what had previously been an eerily silent little street. _Knock..._ Surely that would be enough to satisfy his mother.

"Again, James."

He looked to his father. Frowning, Mr Potter ducked his head and winked discreetly at his son. James sighed. His parents were sadists. Had they no sympathy? It was impossible they really wanted to meet these people any more than he did. They had seen the smoky mill town, the dull people, the grime. They could not possibly expect -

"Yes?" The door need not be knocked on again, for a lanky creature with greasy, black hair had all but torn it from its hinges, his pallid face twisted into a snarl, beady eyes glaring fiercely. Protectively, almost. A snake protecting its nest from a family of mongoose. Half-startled, half-wary of the boy, Mrs Potter stepped back onto the edge of the front step, her pursed clenched in a white-knuckled grip, arms locked round the elbows of her husband and son.

"You must be—" she began kindly, extending her hand.

"Snivellus," the boy cut off, glaring down his hooked nose. He moved like a puppet controlled by a novice puppeteer, all long limbs and abrupt gestures. Floppy and unwashed, his greasy hair tumbled over the mountain of a nose, tickling the hook, just touching the twist of his pale, thin lips and sharp chin. He brushed it aside with a jerky flick of his long hand.

"Oh, well..."

James took this moment to step up, his hand extended in a gesture of mock-courtesy, a sickeningly polite smile on his handsome face. "Snivelly."

"Snivellus" spun crisply and twitched a sallow finger. This was his only welcome, for as soon as the skeletal back was turned he strode purposefully into the little house. The Potters followed silently. Somehow, it seemed almost necessary to maintain silence in this house.

The inside was, if possible, even worse than the neighborhood it resided in. The grimy cobbled streets and dingy brick buildings of the streets outside were fields of wildflowers in comparison to the shabby interior of the cramped parlour. A sofa with a missing leg was propped up against one wall, opposite an old armchair and ottoman, a dusty wooden table, a bookcase with missing shelves.

The Potters stayed relatively close to one another, their brown eyes darting about the room like flies, taking in the place. Mrs. Potter kept her arms around James and her husband. She was unused to such mess and glanced piteously at the dusty table and decrepit furniture. What a place to raise a child, her mind tsked. Almost on instinct her right hand flew to the wand tucked neatly into her skirt. Just a quick tidy - too soothe James's allergies. He did have allergies, she imagined. To dust and - The hand ruffled back down, disappointed. It would be rude to touch someone else's home, no matter how depressingly....

This boy, Severus, (she eyed him carefully, as one might a mysterious carpet stain or a broken pie crust) while he was hardly the looker her James had turned out to be, was probably a fairly nice boy underneath the glower and grease. Unclean, perhaps. A tad misguided. Her may have killed his share of small animals in early childhood and certainly did not look the type to have many friends, but there was a silver lining in every storm cloud, she knew, no matter how heavily dark, grey and dreary the cloud. His parents obviously weren't doing a very good job of taking care of him, nor did they seem to care very much about happenings at school. Come to think of it, his clothes could have used a decent wash (and his hair). He was much too skinny for his height, the type of child she could imagine growing up on meagre portions of beans on toast and recycled tea bags.

Driven by motherly instinct (and the slightly less noble urge to ease his fearsome glare), she approached him, her arms extended and said, "I've been so looking forward to meeting you, Severus. I'm Mrs Potter, James's mum; but you must have known - euh - my husband, Elias."

"He won't speak to you, Mum. Doesn't know how to communicate with decent people," James interrupted loudly, dropping onto the ottoman with a grimace.

Snape and Mrs Potter shared identical scowls. That was just like Potter, thought the lanky boy. His cheeks coloured pale pink beneath a tight stretch of sallow skin as he edged towards the hidden door that led upstairs.

"James!" cried Mrs Potter in dismay, though her eyes remained on Severus.

"Come now, son. Remember why we're here."

Severus flicked his hand violently, instantly lighting a pair of black tapers along the wall. They cast a pointlessly dim light in the gloomy room. _Remember why you're here, Potter._ The voice mocked him. _Remember, Potter. _Because that would really help, wouldn't it? As though he wanted to relive that moment, the most horrifyingly humiliating and unfortunate fifteen minutes of his life. Dumbledore didn't know what he was doing sending these people here. What good would it do if Potter saw where Snape lived? It would only make room for more pranks, more taunting and humiliation. _I can stand that_, he thought, his lips tightening. _Plenty of people have gone through that sort of stuff, and they survived._

Suddenly, the Potters stiffened. There was an unsteady pounding in the walls, the clap of large feet on rotting wood as they tumbled down the stairwell out of site. "Dad's coming," Snape explained silently. He shrunk away from the door as though stung.

The entire room seemed to seize up and a tall, broad-shouldered man in his mid-forties entered, short-cropped black hair bristling in an imaginary breeze, stubble sprinkling his chin with black. He surveyed the small gathering with unveiled distaste twisting the ends of his thick moustache and bushy brows.

"Tobias Snape," the man said, nodding unconcernedly. He looked far less friendly than his skulking son, and even more menacing. Where Severus was pathetically slender and awkward, Tobias was wiry and sharp. Years of factory, construction, and railroad work had hardened the set of his chin, the deep wrinkle in his brow. Hand resting on the shoulder of the younger Snape, the elder explained in a deep voice that he had been working day shift in the mill and was only just given leave to come home. "You're them, then? The ones from the wizard school?" His black eyes dashed over the group, scrutinizing them. They didn't look like much, he noted with disappointment. Rich bastards with a bratty, spoiled kid. Nothing special or magical looking. Just the usual, snobbish bourgeoisie rubbish.

"I'm Elenia," began Mrs Potter politely. "This is my husband, Elias - my son, James. It's a pleasure to meet you, but under the circumstances, I..." She trailed off, surprised as the elder Snape held up his hand and pushed Severus onto the armchair behind James.

"That old wizard sent you after your boy gave mine a load of hell," he paused, enjoying the reactions on their faces. They bloody well deserved it. "I know the story. You're here for tea, and then you're out. Mind you don't bin the bags. We re-use them." Snape the senior paused, beckoning his son with a snap. Severus, whose blush had rosied while he pretended to study the armrest of his chair, sprang to his feet and exited promptly, disappearing behind a wooden door that Mrs Potter had missed in her survey of the room.

"Er," began Mr Potter awkwardly from his perch on the dusty sofa, "lovely place you have here. So," he glanced hopeful at the dreary decor, "economical.... I, eh, I love antiques."

James snorted and stood. "I'll just find the toilet then, shall I?" Without waiting for anyone to answer, he followed Severus out. Mr Potter cleared his throat. The remaining party lulled into a silence so uncomfortable even the dust seemed to want to break it. They allowed for a pregnant pause, each of the three adults staring in the opposite direction as the other, counting the seconds until tea time had finished. Struck by a genius idea, Snape the elder perked up, settling on the abandoned ottoman as easily as though he was sliding into a stool at the local.

"You lot watch football, then, in Wizard-land?" he demanded, pinning them to the sofa with his icy gaze. Mrs Potter shrugged helplessly.

"I - no. No, there's football in Wizard-land."


	2. A Mysterious Find

Snivellus was standing in the middle of what looked to be a very poorly-decorated bedroom, glaring at something on the wall. At once curious, James crept forward and peered through the crack between the door and the wall. He watched as the other boy began to tidy up, throwing books and tatty bits of parchment and clothing onto the bed and stuffing them into the drawer of a small bedside table. How anyone could possibly survive in such an environment was beyond James. As far back as he could remember, his mother had always been obsessed with keeping a spotless house.

"Well, Eli does quite a bit of independent contracting with the ministry..." Her voice carried from upstairs, nervous and shrill. She was clearly as uncomfortable in this place as he was. Good old Mum. As predictable as the morning paper, she was, and haughty to boot when it came to it.

James returned his attention to the door, a cool smile playing at the corners of his mouth."Let's see what Snivelly's up to," he murmured to himself as he burst into the tiny room. Snape jumped back in surprise, his black eyes glittering with malice.

"You're not supposed to be up here," he snarled. "Get out right now! Get out of here!" He charged forward, attempting to force the smirking boy in front of him into the dimly-lit hallway. Snape's slender frame, however, was no match for James' wiry Chaser's build. He was repelled backwards and onto the bed, his back colliding painfully with the corner of a book on deadly poisons.

"Nice place," James sneered, glancing round arrogantly. The once white paint was peeling from the ceiling and walls. The bed was old and rickety, its painted white metal frame chipped, and one of the knobs from the footboard was missing. A solitary screw stood in its place. He took some time to notice a spell-o-taped crack in the single window, the rickety bedside table and neatly stacked clothes beneath it, the cauldron bubbling along merrily in the far corner. "Homey."

Snape all but threw himself from the narrow bed in the centre, his crooked nose flaring at the nostrils. "Get _out_," he snarled. He couldn't stand the thought of that person - that thing - standing in the middle of his postage stamp room, taunting him. It was no palace, nothing to what James-Bloody-Potter was used to, but Snape had lived there all of his life. He didn't enjoy life on Spinner's End, and he most certainly wasn't fond of his room, but he felt obligated to defend it. He had to defend it. It was the only thing he had left. That, and his books. "This is what you want, is it? I can see it in your eyes. You can't wait until holidays are over, until you can get back to that_ bleeding_ school and tell _everyone_ about Snivelly's _dump_ of a house. It'll be one more _joke_ you can add to, right? The Half-Blooded arse with the _trashy_ muggle father and the run-down house and the chipping, _peeling_ room that couldn't even compare to the _rubbish_ bin in Potter's kitchen." His near-skeletal frame seemed to expand as he took a step towards James, who had shrunk back despite himself, and expelled, "I'll tell you one last time to_ get out of my room_!"

More out of shock than anything else, James stayed where he was. How could he respond to that? It was true. He was going to make jokes. He had been planning on telling Sirius and Remus and Peter and having a lovely laugh about it all, trashy Muggle father and chipping paint included. He had banked entirely on whinging to Lily about surviving in the disgusting house, but he wouldn't have pushed it beyond that. He had promised Lily not to publicly humiliate Snivellus when it was unnecessary, and she would most likely have seen this as unnecessary.

But, there was no way he was going to admit to any of that in front of _Snivellus Snape_. Pulling a retort at random from the top of his head, James shot back coolly, "I'm not the one with the prejudice against muggle-borns." He rather enjoyed the rosy colour Snape's pallid skin took on in reaction.

"GET OUT!" The first book came flying. It was an small, colourful muggle book, something Severus had stolen from the local library as a child. "GET OUT OF MY _ROOM_!" The next book, a herbology encyclopaedia, smashed into Potter's stomach. Severus watched with satisfaction as he scrambled for the door, but not enough to stop him hurling the next book—a romance novel some girl had slipped into his bag as a joke. He'd been meaning to burn that one anyway. "GET OUT OF MY _HOUSE_!" The book narrowly missed Potter's head. Severus glanced round, disappointed to find nothing else that he could risk throwing. Pity. "TAKE YOUR BLOODY PARENTS AND LEAVE THIS INSTANT! WE DON'T _WANT_ YOU HERE, AND WE CERTAINLY DON'T _NEED_ YOU HERE!"

He followed Potter down the stairs, accentuating each step with a screamed insult or an order to leave. "Blimey, take the starch out of your robes, will you?" James cried, launching himself into the hallway. "Calm down, calm down. I'm going! See?" They had stumbled upon the shabby parlour. All three adults shot to attention eagerly, relieved, as it were, for the welcome interruption.

"James! James, sit down! Apologise to the boy!. Remember why we're here," Mrs Potter threatened, pointing to a panting Severus. The boy was all-but collapsed against the wall, hands on his knees as he caught his breath.

"Mum..." James protested weakly, but he knew it was no use. His mum would never understand the hate/hate relationship between James and "Snivellus". "Sorry, Sniv—mate. Got a bit carried away, you know?" That was the best his mum would get. Snape glared. Tobias stared longingly at the blank screen of the television.

"He really is sorry, dear," Mrs Potter tried, but quieted herself at the filthy look she received for her effort.

"It's fine," Snape snapped. There was no way in hell he would apologise for throwing his books. It was Potter that was wrong, Potter that was always wrong. He moved to sit beside his father, ignoring the Potters as a whole. The sooner they left, the better in Severus's mind. He didn't want them there, no matter what the headmaster said it would accomplish. The headmaster was on Potter's side anyway. He always had been, always would be, as far as Severus was concerned. Gryffindors stood up for other Gryffindors, and he could have accepted that, if they'd have let _him_ alone.

"So," Mr Potter cut in boldly, "what does your wife do?"

"She's dead," answered Snape, his tone clipped. "Eileen passed three months ago. Some blasted wizard-thing. Chemisty and whatnot. Sev would know all about that, wouldn't you, boy?"

Severus shifted uncomfortably in his seat at the sudden attention. "My mother had a penchant for potions." He raised his chin proudly. Just as father has a penchant for his liquor. "She was working with highly volatile substances. Annihilated half an acre of land not far from here." He sniffed, as though somehow blaming his mother for blowing herself up. Everyone else called it an accident, but Severus was clever enough not to believe such foolishness. His mother was an exceptionally talented witch, something she had passed on to Severus; he knew there was no way she could have possibly created that much accidental damage while making a simple sleeping draught. His father, however, knew nothing of 'that chemistry business' and was quite convinced by 'Eileen's accident'.

"I'm very sorry," Mrs Potter said softly, her eyes shining with pity. She was swooning for this boy, James sensed, and stomped his foot to break the silence that had settled round Snape's confession.

Severus sneered and buried himself deeper into the worn armchair. He didn't need her motherly compassion, her pathetic pity. The word 'pity' did not exist in Severus Snape's rather broad vocabulary. Indeed, he found it an insult to have someone like Potter's mother flashing him comforting smiles, no doubt thinking she was doing something right by this poor, misguided little half-blood boy. That was what it was really about, wasn't it? Superiority. Theirs over him. He sneered at the idea of it.

This was James Potter's way of showing of his perfect, pampered life. He had nice, respectable pure-blood parents, a decent amount of money, popular friends, good looks, considerable Quidditch abilities, and, judging by the way his nose wrinkled as he judged the décor, a fairly decent home to go back to; Severus could only hope that he went back soon.

"Thirsty, are you?" Tobias Snape wrinkled his nose, rubbing a grease-stained hand on his already oily t-shirt. He was not looking at the Potters, but rather at the vacant television."Fetch 'em sommink to drink, Sev. We've got a beer or two, still."

Mrs Potter started, her face turning a lovely shade of lilac. "Oh, no, really..." she began as Severus rose to his feet.

"That'll be quite all right, thank you," Mr Potter continued, glancing nervously at his wife.

"I'll have one." For the first time, James was interested, eager even. He ran a hand through his already tousled hair, shooting Severus a plastered-on grin that the other boy knew only too well.

"Of course you will," Severus snapped, more to himself than anyone. He was sick of this meeting. How much longer could they make this last, and why the hell did he have to serve the two people he absolutely loathed? Why couldn't his bloody father get up off his fat ass for a change and get something for himself?

"Oi!" Tobias reached out lazily, smacking his son across the head, hard. Mrs Potter flinched, clutching her husband's hand and using her free one to stroke James's hair until he pushed her away.

"You want that bloody headmaster of yours sending more people here, do you?" snarled Tobias, giving the boy a hard glare. Oddly enough, James thought, Snape's own Death Glare was by far worse than his father's, and at least two times as frightening.

"No, sir," the boy replied dully, staring at the floor. Mrs Potter took the opportunity to shoot him another dewy-eyed glance, which, fortunately, he missed.

"Then you'll keep your bleeding mouth shut, and do as your told! Off you trot, and bring out another two 'case they change their minds, see?"Gesturing the Potters vaguely, Tobias continued with gusto, "Wot you waiting for, then? Get on wiv it, you nasty little slime-ball."

Slime-ball.

Wasn't that was Padfoot had just called Snivellus not a week ago? James shook his head, not quite sure how to react to the scene that was playing out before him. On the one hand, his head was telling him to take it lightly and share with his friends what had happened so they could have a good laugh, which was what he had promised he would do. On the other hand, something inside him said that none of this was funny. His jokes at school were relatively harmless, but laughing at this? Especially when his mum looked like she was about to adopt the greasy git on the spot? It felt surprisingly _wrong_.

"We really didn't need drinks, you know..." Mrs Potter smiled pleasantly, patting her styled brown hair. Mr Potter was silently drumming his fingers on his pressed slacks, apparently having decided it was best to let his wife do all of the talking.

"I did," James spoke up.

Tobias had taken a disliking to the spoilt nature of the Potter boy the minute he met him, but he had been watching the lad, and he was starting to feel the burn of jealousy rearing its angry, green head. How the hell did two stiffs like the Potters find themselves blessed with a well-built, good-looking kid, while he was stuck with scrawny, bookish Severus, the boy who's only purpose seemed to be giving him grey hairs? If only Sev hadn't taken after Eileen so much. Some people got lucky, he decided glumly, his shoulders falling slightly; meanwhile, he was landed with a sullen freak who spent far too much time reading his damn magic books (no doubt trying to find a way to do his own father in).

"Hurry up, Sev! We're half dying of thirst out here, you great skulking skeleton!"

Severus appeared as if out of midair, half a dozen bottled of beer floating in front of him while he held his wand out, much like a conductor leading an orchestra. A vein in his temple was working furiously. He dropped the bottles unceremoniously onto the coffee table, throwing one contemptuously to Potter who caught it out of the air without even looking up. Severus could feel his father's eyes on the other boy and couldn't help but feel a surge of anger pulsing through his veins. Did sodding Potter have to take everything? First it was his mum's potion vials, then the Transfiguration textbook, which cost quite a sum as it was, but then it was his bag, then his dignity (and Lily, he thought with a nauseous little flop in his stomach), and now he was stealing Tobias.

"Toss me one, Sev," Tobias grunted, eyeing his son disdainfully. "And mind you don't spill. I've only just had the floors mopped up."

_And only because I had to mop them_, Severus thought furiously, taking a deep gulp from his bottle. He couldn't wait until he got out of this house.

Severus Snape had his life all planned out. He'd worked it out on a rainy day when he was seven. His parents were going through the motions of one of their more vicious rows, so Severus had stayed up in his room, reading a book on wizarding genealogy that he had 'borrowed' from mum. She would be angry if she caught him with another one of her books again, but he couldn't help it. When his mum's family disowned her for marrying a muggle, the only things she had left were her potions equipment and her books. Severus found them fascinating. There were books full of complex magic, set books he would need if he got into Hogwarts, dusty old tomes full of advanced Dark magic, and histories of all the magical people history had ever known. They were his only friends, besides Lily, and he valued them more than his own life.

When he was five, Severus was going to become a bookseller. That notion, however, had been knocked out of his head, quite literally, by Mum. When he was six, he decided to be an inventor. He was going to create complex new potions and make loads of money. It was Dad who had knocked the idea for this notion. He wasn't going to stand two chemistry-masters (for that was what he called them) in his house. At seven, Severus was certain that he'd made the right choice of career. He watched his mum and dad carefully, looking for the sort of traits his future job would have that they'd be pleased with.

His conclusion was to become a Dark Wizard.

It was the ideal job in Severus's mind. He had watched his father keenly over the course of his short life, and noticed quickly that bullying people brought results instantaneously; it also made them fear the bully, which could also be helpful in getting his way, something that rarely happened during his childhood years. From watching Mum, Severus noted that he would need intelligence. He would also need to be extremely self-sufficient, and he already was. It was a career in the making—Severus Snape, the most-feared Dark Wizard of all time.

"It's half past," James announced loudly, interrupting the silence that had come over the room. He hated silence. Especially awkward silences such as these.

"Thank you, James, dear," Mrs Potter replied dully, sounding weary. She was giving up on these people. It was impossible to maintain a positive attitude, what with the father and his horrible behaviour, and the skulking boy sitting next to him, sipping his beer quietly. And yet, what would she give for a few quiet moments like that? James was never silent. He couldn't just sit and think. He constantly had to be moving, to be doing something. The poor dear. Still, that didn't excuse his actions with the young man sitting across from her. And while she was certain (by the looks of him alone) that Severus Snape had contributed to the feud quite a bit, she knew James was the one fueling it. He had a nasty tendency to get a bit full of himself, although she had to admit he was improving.

Slightly.

James sipped his stale beer, only just resisting from turning up his nose at the horrid taste. Ugh. How did people live like this? No wonder Snivellus was such a conniving little bastard. Just look at the life he had to come back to every summer. If James had had to grow up in this house, he was sure he would have been a conniving little bastard as well.

"Mmm." Tobias smacked his lips, burping loudly. Discreetly, Severus covered his eyes and rubbed furiously at his throbbing temple. Why did his father have to be such an embarrassment? Even Potter's parents were polite, if more than a little annoying, but that was to be expected. They did, after all, share the same genes as the arrogant prat sat across from him. "Oi, Sev, giv us another, will ya? That's it, lad. Give the boy a tour of the damn house, why don't you? I'm sure he's not half bored just sitting round like this!"

Severus jumped, setting down his unfinished bottle and glowering at Potter. Great. Another opportunity in which he could embarrass himself. It sounded like_ such fun_.

"This way," he muttered, leading Potter through to the kitchen.

Shit.

He'd forgotten what a pigsty the place was. Father wasn't the best of housekeepers while Severus was away at school, and even when he returned.... Moving quickly, he stuffed some newspapers into the bare pantry, flicked his wand at the table full of beer bottles so that they binned themselves, and replaced the milk, which had by then gone sour, into the refrigerator. He worked quickly, but not quickly enough so that James didn't notice the only things left to eat were beer and a jar of mustard.

"Forgotten what a proper kitchen looks like, have you?" he sneered, before he could really think about it. Taunting Snape came instinctually.

Severus chose not to respond, and instead busied himself with scratching a hole into the dirty rug by the sink, which had piled up with dishes.

"There's no food," he observed loudly, watching for Snape's reaction.

To his surprise, the other boy said softly, almost to himself, "No money for food after Mum died. Spent all the money on her funeral, didn't we? And even that was shitty." He moved on in disgust, leading James through a dingy toilet, past his father's bedroom, and back by the door that led to the stairs. He stopped here, not wanting to go any further.

"What's upstairs, then, besides your room?" James asked curiously, opening the door. He peered at his parents; they seemed to be staring in deep fascination as Tobias started to doze off.

"Don't—" Severus started, but James was already halfway up the stairs, cackling as he watched the sallow boy struggling to catch up.

"Come on, you. I'm not hanging round all day, you know." He shot down the hall, locking himself in Snape's bedroom with a sideways grin that, Severus knew from experience, could only mean much pain and humiliation on his part.

"Potter, open the door! Open it _now_, dammit!" Severus pounded on his door, forcibly reminded of another incident, quite similar to this.

_Summer holidays had barely begun, and already he found himself in front of _her_ house. Nervously, he dragged himself to the front door, pawed at it a bit, gave it a real knock, and waited. _

_And waited. _

_He knocked again._

_And waited._

_Once more._

_"Who's there?" The voice at the other end was not Lily's, he knew, but that of her horrid sister, Petunia. "You, is it?" Petunia's screech was one of pure glee as she cracked the door ajar just enough so that she could leer out at him unpleasantly, her thin, blonde hair swinging from side to side like a bit of limp noodle. "She doesn't want to see you, boy. I suggest you leave." _

_The door was slammed in his face before he had the time to remember the incantation to a proper Bat-Bogey Hex. _

"Hey, Snivelly, what's this?" Potter had opened the door and was holding something in his hands.

Snape could only stare on in horror.


	3. The enigma of Mrs Potter

The box that James Potter held in his hand was fairly small, very old, and made entirely of tin. It had belonged to another boy, many years ago, before Severus had been so much as a thought on his mother's mind. He reached out for it desperately, his bone-thin fingers grasping at empty air. In his haste to tidy up the parlour before the Potters' arrived, Severus had neglected to lock his prize and had instead left it sitting, painfully open, excruciatingly vulnerable, at the foot of his dusty, little bed. He lunged; James dodged adeptly, racing into the corridor beyond and down the stairs, to the kitchen. Severus's descent was more a tangle of spindly arms and legs than a climb down the stairs as he bolted after the other boy. His pale face had moulded from petrified to furious in a matter of seconds; he howled and tumbled into the scrubbed wooden table like the ball in a game of tenpin bowling.

"Oh, come, on Snape, it can't be that terrible," trilled Potter from across the room, where he was sat comfortably upon the kitchen windowsill, the box tucked between his legs. "What d'you keep in here?" He shook it playfully, winking as his fingers reached the rusty clasp that kept the lid locked on.

"_Accio bo_ - " began Severus seethingly, but he hadn't the chance to finish before James blocked him.

"Pathetic attempt, Snivelly, really. Do you imagine they made me captain of the Quidditch team for nothing?" With a low creak and a cackle from James, the little box swung open and promptly spilled its contents onto the scuffed linoleum floor. "What the - "

For once, Severus was faster. In a single, fluid motion he had summoned the items into his outstretched arms and there cradled them as one would a child. Yet, no child could have been this precious to him, for these and the box that they came in were the very first (and hopefully not the last) gifts that Severus Snape had received in all his fifteen years.

James was dumbfounded. "All that," he sputtered disbelievingly, his brown eyes wide behind the lenses of his glasses, "over a wanking _Halloween costume_?"

Snape glared, his eyes gleaming with a newfound loathing for the despicable creature across from him. "It is _not_," he snarled venomously, lip curling, "a wanking _Halloween costume_."

But James had not finished. All that he had seen of the bundle Snape now held was a thick, slivery set of black robes and a silver thing that was, as far as he could tell, some sort of skeletal mask. A Halloween costume, like the ones he had seen small children wear at his parents' holiday get-togethers. "Yes it is," he insisted stubbornly. "It's a costume. A mask and robes, like what kids wear when they want you to give them sweets."

But Severus was already backing away, having retrieved his tin box from where it was strewn on the kitchen floor. "Not," he repeated, stuffing both the mask and robes back into their hiding place. He was shaken, white as a ghost and trembling from the crown of his greasy head to the very tips of his toes. "But it's mine, my best, my gift. And you're not taking it from me, Potter, not this one thing. Not this one, bloody thing." He stumbled, crabwise, into the parlour, oblivious to the confused and concerned faces of Mr and Mrs Potter, hardly noticing as his rather large feet trod right across those of Tobias, who sprung up with a yelp and a vicious right-hook.

At that moment, two things occurred to Severus. The first was that he should probably duck, for the beer bottle his father had been drinking from was a swing away knocking him out cold. The second, and markedly more lamentable of the two, was that he was going to have to clean the entire parlour after the spray of glass and spilt blood as the neck of the half-empty beer bottle collided with his face. His body flew back from the force of the blow, sending him bowling into the Potters, who caught him between them.

What happened in the moments following remained a blur to both James and Severus, even after they found themselves, panting and swearing, in the Potters' tidy living room. Mrs Potter had Snape by the collar, having apparated him away from the scene on motherly instinct, while Mr Potter towed James and the school trunk he had summoned from Severus's bedroom before his swift departure from Spinner's End.

"What - " James began, glancing wildly from Snape's shellshocked form to his mother's familiar one, "Mum, what you doing?"

"I have never approved of the use of violence where children are concerned," she announced, matter-of-factly, pushing Severus onto the overstuffed sofa. "I made a decision, and now we're home, and we're staying." Her tone offered no room for disagreement, but James found he could not contain himself.

"_But you can't keep him_!" he cried out, terrified by the idea.

"Yes," parroted Snape childishly, "_you can't keep me_!"

But Mrs Potter was already off, bustling to and fro, straightening cushions and patting dust from the furniture. She hummed tunelessly to herself, ignoring both boys in favour of levitating the scuffed trunk that had accompanied them from Snape's house. "This way, if you please," she said breezily, though her jaw was set and her eyes glinted determinedly. "We'll set you up in the guest room for the rest of the summer, and then you can return to Hogwarts with James, and I'll be having words with that Dumbledore ...."

Severus's eyebrows had all-but disappeared into his greasy hair. He regarded Mrs Potter with nothing short of pure horror, his mouth open, fathomless black eyes as wide as dinner plates. Stay with the Potters - with _James_ Potter - for the remainder of the summer? It could not have been possible that Potter's mother was even stupider than her Quaffle-headed son. An entire summer with Potter would be...possibly deadly, on his part. Shuddering, Severus turned on his heel towards the woman. He was going to protest, to demand that she return him and his belongings to Spinner's End, where he could handle Tobias Snape perfectly well on his own, thank you very much, as he had been doing for the past fifteen years.

She walked much too hurriedly for his liking, leading him down a bright little corridor and up a flight of stairs to a clean, white door at the very back of the house. "You can stay here, and don't bother trying to argue with me, dear," she said, without looking at him. "No on ever wins." Taking a moment to set the trunk daintily at the centre of what, Severus could see, was a much larger, cleaner and nicer room than his own back home, she continued briskly, "Loo's down the corridor just there, across from James's room, so you can bathe and do whatever else you need for yourself before dinner. You're welcome to take a toothbrush; we've got plenty. If you like, you can lock your door, but there're wards against apparition in the house and around it, unless you are me or Mr Potter. I've got all the Floo powder locked away, as James has a tendency to play with it.

You are more than welcome to send an owl to anyone you please, though, and - " Mrs Potter turned to him, her eyes the same soft, pale blue that his mother's been the last time he had seen her, "if it really does bother you to be round James, I'll be sure he keeps his distance from you." Her face hardened again, momentarily, and she left him with the announcement, "You _are_ here for the summer, and I'll hear no arguments on the matter. I said the same thing to Sirius the last time we had him round, and I'll say the same to you: I do not abide by parents who hit their children, no matter who they are and how tough they think they might be. Dinner should be ready sometime later in the evening. I'll find you some bruise balm for your cheek."

With that, she was gone.

Though she had infuriated and annoyed him all day, Severus quickly found that Mrs Potter's lack of presence left the room a bit empty. He surveyed the four-poster bed and handsome oak wardrobe with contempt, refusing to be impressed, determined not to like them. It would not do for him to become attached to the place. It was not his. He did not belong here among these nice, expensive things, and, if he had his way, he would not be staying much longer.

Sighing deeply, he levitated his trunk to stand beneath the sunny window, staring, for a moment, almost longingly, at the expanse of green grass and wildflowers just beyond it. James Potter whisked by on his broomstick, his flying uncharacteristically jerky and amateurish. His mother must have spoken to him, Severus thought, turning from the window with a shrug. Where had she said the toilet was? He slipped carefully from the room, pausing to close the door behind him, and followed Mrs Potter's earlier directions down the corridor, across from a large, vacant room that he supposed was Potter's. The door locked automatically as he closed it. This unnerved him a bit, but he brushed it off.

"_Hmph_."

Severus pivoted, his dark head swinging from left-to-right in quick succession, but the source of the "hmph" was nowhere to be found.

"_Hmph,_" said the little voice again, with a hint of urgency.

He faced his reflection in the mirror, his hand rising to brush over the bruise Father had given him earlier. Severus surveyed himself as he might a horribly botched potion, his eyebrows raised, lips curling at the lank mass of greasy black hair that did little more than flop about atop his head, the large nose that had been rendered crooked and hooked after having been introduced to his father's solid right-hook, the thin lips, the long chin and bushy eyebrows and the pure _ugliness_ of it all.

"_Well, you could certainly do with a wash, or five_," came the voice from the mirror. "_And perhaps some new clothes. And a toothbrush. I suggest a very long, very soapy bath, first, and we'll sort out the rest for you. You'll be a new man_!"

The exclamation had startled him. He had never met a talking mirror before and regarded the Potters' keenly as he stripped the baggy trousers and jumper he had worn every day since the summer holiday began, determined to give it another visit soon and find out what sort of incantation made it work. The bath began to run of its own accord, disturbing his thoughts and prompting him into the vast tub, where the warm water sloshed merrily round his thighs and the pleasant, breezy smell of the soap made his eyes heavy. He took a bar of soap and scrubbed and scrubbed, allowing himself for a moment to imagine that he was another boy, one who belonged in a lovely, great house such as this one. He cleaned himself with medical precision, allowing not an inch of grime to escape as he washed all that was Snape from his skin.

Dinner was announced sometime in between six and seven, as Mrs Potter had promised. Severus followed Mr Potter back downstairs, past rows of photographs of a smiling black-haired boy on a broomstick, with his friends, doing homework, hugging his mum, wrestling with his father. Severus stared pointedly at the floor for the rest of the journey to the dining room, where Mrs Potter bustled him into a chair across from her son. They were having roast duck with pumpkin juice, potatoes, and some sort of stringy, green thing that Severus did not recognise. Avoiding James's violent glowers, he set-to filling his plate

"So, Severus, how did you find your room?" Mrs Potter took a bite of duck, her eyes fixed unwaveringly on his. He glanced away, determined not to fall for her pleasantries, for she was, after all, a Potter. And Potters were not to be trusted, or conversed with.

Allowing for a pregnant pause, he answered curtly, "If I remember correctly, I followed you."

But she was not put off so easily. Smiling gently, she laid her fork down and changed the subject. "Have you decided what you'd like to be when you leave school?"

This, he answered easily. "Yes. I'd like to be free of your abomination of a son." _And the others, as well_, he noted mentally, his expression darkening considerably. James snorted into his potato from across the table, the only indication he had given thus far of having noticed the other boy.

Surprisingly, Mrs Potter's smile remained glued to her pretty lips, refusing to waver even the slightest bit as she appraised him. "James mentioned you're rather gifted with potions. And defence against the Dark Arts. Have you thought of working for the ministry?"

"No, but I've thought of working against it."

Her smiled merely widened. She ploughed on, unfazed, "You know, I was _just_ reading an advert in the _Prophet_ today that said Gringott's is looking to hire another curse-breaker."

Severus considered it over a forkful of duck, his expression unreadable as he darted from Mrs Potter to James and back again. They were as different as chalk and cheese, Potter and his mother. Where James was blunt, rude, and most likely had never been capable of holding a conversation that did not centre round the subject of Quidditch, Mrs Potter continued to smile softly to herself, her tone as neutral as the colour beige as she questioned him. "I'd much prefer curse-maker," he answered silkily, sipping his pumpkin juice.

"The colour green suits you, dear," she said unexpectedly, returning her steady gaze to her dinner plate. James laughed aloud this time, though his mother ignored him. Severus allowed himself a slight smirk, considering himself to have won the subtle battle of wills, until she said, "Though, it suited me rather nicely, as well, when I was in Slytherin. You'll find that you grow out of that, in time, when the self-pity fades and you realise that the world is much, much brighter with each step you take away from your dungeon."

Dinner was eaten in silence after that. Severus could think of nothing clever to say in return, and so stuffed his mouth with duck.

Lying in bed that night, swathed in blankets, he considered the enigma that was Mrs Potter. James Potter's mother a Slytherin? He was sure it was a lie. It had to have been. No Potter could ever have been a Slytherin, or anything, really, but a Gryffindor. They were built for it, plainly and simply. Potters were bold, compassionate, and a bit thick. They didn't do subtlety. They did not wear green.

And what was that she said about his dungeon? Self-pity and some rubbish, something about the world being bright. He sneered into his pillow. What a Hufflepuffish thing to say. Severus rather liked the dim, flickering half-light of his self-proclaimed home. It had nothing to do with pity. He did not pity himself. Not Severus Snape, who was more clever than his entire year put together, with the exception of Lily. No, not him. Definitely not. Absolutely, positively, without a doubt - he did _not_ pity himself. What was there to pity, anyways? Yes, he was Half-Blood. All right, he was a bit ugly. His robes could have done with an adjustment or seven, but that was the price you paid when you bought secondhand. He had no real friends, discounting Mulciber and Lucius, who were really only a means to an end, when it came down it. His parents had never been kind or sat down to dinner like the Potters did, and they'd never bought him nice things or bothered to ask him what he wanted to be when he finished school, but what did he want in parents like that?

He liked no having a mother, revelled in the fact that his useless lump of a father was either too busy working or drinking to pay attention to the fact that his only son had taken to practising dark magic on small animals in the back garden, thoroughly enjoyed being smacked round for small things, like tripping over the electrical cord that connected the television to the wall and accidentally cutting the power in the middle of a football match his father had been watching avidly. It was lovely, every ounce of it. It was his life, and he would not stand idly by why other's judged him for it. She had no place to judge, Mrs Potter. She had known him for but a day, had seen nought more than a brief glimpse of how _fantastically_ he lived. She had no right, he fumed. No right to tell him that he pitied himself. Severus Snape did not even know what the word _pity_ meant.

He tossed restlessly onto his side, his eyes open against the black of the night, willing sleep to find him.


End file.
